The Paean of the Bells
by tenrousei-kuroi
Summary: When his mother leaves, Zuko's life begins a slow descent into a truly dark place. Ozai/Zuko, mentions of Ozai/Azula. Please read warnings.
**Story Summary:** Written for the avatar kink meme over on LJ. There was a bet, I lost, and this is the result.

 **Story notes/WARNINGS:** Unbearable homage to Edgar Allen Poe. Rape, non-con, incest, underage. This is the most fucked-up thing I've written since Unable Are the Loved to Die. And at least that one had a bit of a heart to it. I've been liberal with Zuko's age in this, as even I have my limits.

* * *

 **The Paean of the Bells**

Zuko's first memory was of a bell. The shapes milling around him were blurry, the colors inconsistent, but the sound of that small, metal bell was clear.

In later years, Zuko learned that the bell had been a present from his grandfather, the Fire Lord Azulon. It was his first and last gift from the man.

Someone—his mother, perhaps?—had affixed the bell to Zuko's bedroom door as part of a game. ( _Ding ding._

"Hello, Mr. Zuko, I'm here to pick up my groceries."

" _Hi, Mommy! Hi Azula! Here you are!"_

"Why, thank you, Mr. Zuko. Here's your money. Now can you count out Mommy's change, my smart boy? Oh, perfect, Zuko, very good!"

" _Bye Mommy!"_

 _Ding ding)._

But then Zuko's mother had disappeared, and in his grief, Zuko had moved into his sister's room for comfort. The bell stayed silent for many years, gathering dust like the rest of his bedroom. He didn't hear its sharp cry again until his fourteenth birthday, when his father sent him packing from Azula's bed.

"You are the crown prince of the Fire Nation," he hissed. "You will not crawl to your sister's room for comfort like some sort of infant!"

Zuko blinked, clutching a handful of Azula's red bedsheets. His sister stood with her arms folded, leaning against the far wall, watching Zuko and Ozai's interaction with the same curious detachment that had haunted her entire body since the night their grandfather had died.

"I didn't think you minded," Zuko whispered, refusing to look up at his father.

"I thought this ended years ago," Ozai insisted. "To find out now that you've been deceiving me for so long!"

"I haven't, Father," Zuko insisted. "You just—you're just always gone for so long and when I do see you, we don't talk…much."

What Zuko said was true. To prove himself a worthier successor than his brother, Ozai had taken every opportunity to show his military prowess (the one area where he had always lagged behind Iroh). He'd led three campaigns in the last half decade alone, and when he was at home, it was always Azula, his firebending prodigy who monopolized his attention. Zuko was honestly surprised she hadn't complained of his presence to their father; it was obvious in her every word that she loathed Zuko's company.

But now the time for proving himself to be every bit as brave and capable as his soldiers had passed and Ozai's presence was needed on the throne. He'd dismissed his prize delegates and put on his crown.

"Well we'll have plenty of time to talk now, won't we, now that I have returned."

"Yes, Father."

"Go to your own _room,_ Zuko!" Ozai yelled abruptly. Zuko scrambled off Azula's bed and frantically gathered up the few belongings he'd kept in her room. As he hustled out the door, he heard his sister hum, "Goodbye, Zuzu."

Now the bell rang again as Zuko stepped into his bedroom for the first time in seven years. It sounded duller, like a piano left untuned and neglected. It's thick thud startled Zuko into dropping his bundle of belongings, and it left him with a headache.

He'd have to take the bell down. Zuko dragged his desk chair across the room, stopped it next to his door and climbed onto it. He balanced himself against the wall and leaned to clasp his fingers around the small, silver bell. He'd almost unhooked it when he stopped. There was a small, sick part of him that wanted the bell to stay. If it did, then whenever someone opened his bedroom door, he would have those first few seconds to pretend it was his mother, coming to play with him.

( _Ding ding "Why hello there, Mr. Zuko.")_

Unfortunately, the first person to enter his room since he'd moved back in had been Ozai.

 _Ding ding._

Zuko sat up in bed and for a moment he kept his eyes closed, his heart soaring.

"Zuko."

His father's deep voice brought Zuko down to earth. Zuko stared at Ozai's large silhouette. The man seemed to fill the entire doorway. Zuko shrank into himself. He would never grow to be that tall and strong. He would never look like his father.

Then Ozai lit the room with a simple wave of his hand, sending angry flames to every lamp on the walls and dresser. Zuko flinched. When Ozai stepped into his son's room, he closed the door behind him and Zuko didn't like that.

"Calm down, boy, I only wish to talk to you. Do not act like I have come to beat you to death."

Zuko realized he was panting and hastily closed his mouth. His father knelt before him and placed a hand on his leg. The heat radiating off him was overwhelming. Zuko thought that if he were to get off his bed, he would surely stand no taller than the Fire Lord did kneeling. The thought made his head swim.

"What do you need?" Zuko finally asked.

"Your instructors tell me you've nothing more to learn from them." Ozai smiled. It was a cruel expression, like a snake leering over its dinner, anticipating the moment when one final, well-timed strike would finish the job.

"What do you mean?" Zuko asked in a bit of a panic. Azula had outclassed their regular instructors over a year ago, and had since been bending under the scrutiny of their father.

"I will take over your training from here," Ozai said in a low voice. "It's funny, though, how I am told that you seem to improve with leaps and bounds only when you believe you are truly alone. Why, if Zhao hadn't spotted you in the back courtyard yesterday then we all might never have known how advanced you truly were. Imagine…I might still be under the delusion that you were—how have your instructors always phrased it?—ah yes, _remedial_ at best. Zuko…" Ozai placed both his hands on Zuko's shoulders. His right hand crept up towards Zuko's neck. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've been deceiving me again."

"N—never, Father," Zuko said desperately. In a panic, he spouted the words he had heard his father's most trusted advisors says. "I am loyal to you!"

Ozai raised an eyebrow. "Imagine," he said again. "A Fire Lord who cannot control his own heir."

"I am your loyal son!" Zuko insisted, a definite note of panic in his voice.

"Sh, yes. Yes you are," Ozai agreed. "And from now on, Prince Zuko, you will train with me. I will teach you to bend the flames to your every whim. I will make you strong and honorable. I will show you how to call down the lightning."

* * *

Zuko had spent his early childhood almost exclusively under the care of his mother. No other family members had had much time for him. His uncle, Iroh, whom he would become close to in later years, was at that point still busy with his own son and last surviving family member, Lu Ten. Zuko's grandfather was, as his mother always told him, a _very busy man_ and as so regrettably had little time to spend with his grandchildren. Likewise, his mother's family were constantly _busy working on the islands_ to the extent that Zuko had never met any of them and sometimes questioned whether they were even real. Perhaps his mother had simply arrived into being. Maybe she had fallen from the heavens, like the angel Zuko had always thought her to be.

His father had been an in-entity for the first eight years of his life.

Once, when Zuko was five, he contracted a terrible flu from his mother and the two of them found themselves bedridden for several weeks. While mildly delirious from fever, Zuko had managed to somehow crawl from his mother's bed as she slept and stumble into the hallway. There he'd wandered aimlessly for a good while before a strong young man had scooped him up into his arms, muttering fierce reprimands.

The man was very warm, and Zuko suddenly felt so cold. He leaned into the man's chest and reached up weakly to pull at a strand of silky black hair.

"Stop that," the man chastised.

"Mama?" Zuko asked.

"Yes, I'm taking you to your mother."

The man hadn't lied. He carried Zuko to his mother's room. Ursa was now sitting up in bed, looking panicked and flustered. She'd audibly sighed when she saw Zuko was safe in the man's arms. When the man tried to tuck Zuko back into bed, Zuko refused to let go of his long, black hair. Eventually, and with less of a fight than he would later insist, the man relented and slid into bed next to Ursa, who was fast asleep again. Zuko slept soundly in the man's arms and felt much better in the morning.

Zuko had been genuinely surprised a few months later when he bumped into the man again—and was told to cease his excited babbling and bow his head in respect to his father, the crown prince of the Fire Nation.

Zuko's upbringing with Ursa had been very simple. Ursa said what she meant, and she expected honesty and Zuko's best efforts. She'd disciplined Zuko only when he'd endangered himself or someone else, and had always done so fairly—never hurting him.

Ozai was different, and the now-teenage Zuko was having trouble adapting to his father's behavioral patterns. Ozai was complicated. He'd often speak in riddles, telling Zuko something but expecting him to hear something else entirely. Ozai encouraged both Zuko and Azula to lie to everyone when it was beneficial—convinced that he alone would never be taken in by any untruth. Ozai expected perfection.

But Ozai punished Zuko much more frequently than Ursa had. He had little concern for Zuko's safety or the safety of others and instead took to Zuko only when he felt his son had embarrassed, disobeyed, or inconvenienced him. Zuko found that behaviors his mother would never have tolerated—such as roaming about the streets at night and attempting dangerous firebending techniques without supervision—were of no consequence to Ozai. In fact, one night, Zuko ran right into his father around three in the morning as he was sneaking back inside after losing track of time with some friends. He'd thrown himself prostrate before the man, begging frantically to be spared and promising never to be so irresponsible again, but Ozai hadn't cared. He'd waved Zuko back into his room and gone back to bed himself.

But when Zuko lost a practice duel to his younger sister, his father backhanded him so hard he fell over.

His life was confusing for a while after his father came back from his war campaign, but in time he started to get used to things. He trained with Ozai and sometimes Azula as well, and now that the cat was out of the bag, he didn't hold back with his firebending. He would never be so talented as Azula would surely grow to be (he had three years on her and she was already able to go toe to toe with him) but he was still very good. And he could summon the lightning. Azula had thus far showed no aptitude for that. She may have been the superior fighter, but Zuko's occasional, barely controlled lightning bolt meant he had inherited _something_ from his father: he was truly the Fire Lord's son.

Zuko took up the sword and worked hard to learn his economics and wartime strategy. Ozai tolerated no mistakes and Zuko became very well acquainted with the back of the man's hand, but there was still something inspiring about the Fire Lord. In time, Zuko started to accept the man as his true guardian. Soon his long absences from Zuko's earlier life were forgotten, and it seemed as if Ozai had always been there. And as the months went by, and every _ding ding_ of Zuko's silver bell signaled not the arrival of Ursa but of Ozai, Zuko's mother began to fade from his mind, and all his love for her slowly shifted association to his father.

* * *

When Zuko turned fifteen, the sound of the bell turned sinister. Constant use had shaken it free of its dust and rust, and the sound of the bell rang sharper than ever. It was one humid, sticky August night after a particularly unfortunate day that Zuko was sprung awake by the earsplitting chime of the bell.

Panicky and sweaty, Zuko thrashed for a moment before his eyes settled on his father and he stilled like a rabbit catching sight of a hunting dog. Fire Lord Ozai lit Zuko's lamps and closed his door with a snap. Zuko looked down and tried to calm his breathing.

"Look at me, Prince Zuko," Ozai ordered. Zuko cringed, but obeyed.

"Yes, sir?"

"I trust you understand how greatly you have disappointed me today."

Zuko almost whimpered. His father had been away for the day with his brother. A fool part of Zuko had hoped that word of his behavior might not have reached his father.

"I—I'm sorry, Father." Zuko didn't know what to do with his eyes. At times the Fire Lord rebuked him for lacking the courage to look his superiors in the face, and just as frequently he would demand Zuko drop his gaze to the floor. In a panic, Zuko closed his eyes, even though he realized that was probably the worst decision of all.

"Open. Your. Eyes. Fire Prince Zuko." In a situation like this, the longer Zuko's title, the more trouble he was in.

"I only wanted to help, Father, I wanted to be useful to you, like Azu—like… like a true heir." Zuko was unwilling to mention his sister. Once reminded of her, Ozai would either compare her favorably to him, or else feel obligated to punish her, too. Both options hurt Zuko.

"You are an undisciplined, ungrateful brat," Ozai said in a threatening voice. "I thought I had trained Ursa's stupidity out of you!"

"W—who is Ursa?" Zuko asked in confusion.

Ozai slapped him so fast that Zuko felt it before he heard it. "Don't play that act on me, you sniveling little mama's boy!"

Zuko curled up on himself and felt like crying. Of course his mother's real name hadn't been _Mommy._ How could he have forgotten her true name? Ursa. Ursa. Ursa. It was such an ugly name, though. Much too ugly for someone as striking as she'd been. She had been pretty, hadn't she? Strong, yes, Zuko had memories of his mother swinging him up into her arms one-handed, but what had her faced been like?

Ozai was yelling at Zuko to sit up straight and face him. Zuko did so with tears and snot running down his face.

"Why can't I remember her?" Zuko asked, sobbing brokenly.

"Who?" asked Ozai in a dangerous voice. "Your traitor of a mother? What does it matter? She's left you behind with me; she may as well never have lived here."

Zuko stopped wailing long enough to wipe at his eyes. His whole face was red with tears and embarrassment. He was approaching sixteen years old—almost an adult. He couldn't cry, he just couldn't.

But Ozai liked it when Zuko cried. He hated his son for it, as well, and Zuko knew his father was seconds away from striking him and demanding he cease his dishonorable display. But make no mistake, if Zuko hadn't been crying yet, Ozai would have made him.

"You thought that because I was away, you could roam the palace as you pleased?" Ozai demanded.

Zuko shook his head frantically. "No," he insisted. "I had no intention of disobeying you, Father. I wanted only to surprise you. To practice my firebending while you were away and then show you what I had learned. I did not know those scrolls were not to be touched…"

"Had you truly been unaware of how angry I would be then you would not have waited until I was gone. You would not have sneaked past the guards and you certainly would not have lied to me about it."

"No, please!" Zuko slid from his bed and to his knees at his father's feet. "I spoke without thinking. I did not mean to lie; of _course_ I have nothing to hide, I was merely searching for some of your notes on the more advanced firebending techniques. I wanted only to learn more of controlling the fire bent by others!"

Lord Ozai was quiet for a long time. Zuko looked up at him nervously. Most of the man's face was rent in shadow, but he seemed to be smiling. Then, slowly, Ozai lowered himself to the floor as well. Zuko could feel the sweat gathering on his face. His father laid a warm hand on Zuko's cheek and he flinched. Ozai pulled Zuko forward until the boy was nearly in his lap.

"Do not play me for a fool, Zuko—"

"Father, I would never—"

"The _fire_ bent by others…or the lightning?"

Zuko swallowed. "Well, surely a—a knowledge of defensive techniques surrounding both would…"

Ozai freed Zuko's hair from its tie with a sharp tug. Zuko gasped.

"Searching my private notes for information on how to shirk your opponent's lightning…how to… _throw it back_ at them," Ozai muttered in what sounded like a carefree voice. He carded a hand through Zuko's hair, tugging relentlessly through knot after knot without slowing. The pain made Zuko's eyes water.

"Of course I'm not surprised you would think to learn such techniques on your own, my Prince," Ozai continued. "After all, it is certainly a move I would never teach you. And why would I bother, when the only two people in the world capable of bending lightning are sitting in this very room?"

Zuko stopped breathing.

"Tell me, my child," Ozai said sweetly. Zuko had never been so frightened of something so seemingly kind. Here was his father, holding him close and whispering terms of endearment into his ears, and Zuko had never been more terrified. Ozai rested his cheek against the top of Zuko's head. "What are you preparing for? Do you believe I would _ever_ allow real harm to come to you during one of our training matches? …Or did you think you would ever be fighting me for real?"

Zuko shivered.

Ozai pushed Zuko back harshly. "Strip," he ordered.

Taken aback, Zuko hesitated, mortified. _What was his father playing at?_ He debated standing up and trying to run.

"I will tolerate no further disobedience," Ozai hissed. "Every minute you defy me only makes your punishment worse. Now remove your clothes."

"W—why?" Zuko croaked.

"Those robes are an heirloom, Prince Zuko," the Fire Lord crooned. "I'll not have them singed."

Zuko whimpered. His father stood several feet away from him now and the man was so angry that Zuko could still feel his body heat.

" _Now_ , Zuko."

Zuko obeyed and soon he was naked on his bedroom floor with the Fire Lord kneeling above him. Ozai straddled Zuko, keeping him in place with his legs. Zuko couldn't have escaped if he'd tried, his father was too physically strong, his weight too much. Ozai pushed Zuko's shoulder hard into the floor with one hand, and with the other he held a death grip on Zuko's face. Zuko could see nothing but black and stars in his left eye as his father's fingers dug into it.

"What were you thinking, Zuko?"

Zuko keened and weakly shook his head, unable to move more than a few inches.

"Perhaps you were going to dethrone me?"

"No," Zuko gasped. In his terror, the word came out scarcely louder than a whisper.

"Or you were going to run. Fight me off when I tried to stop you and then run away like your _fucking_ mother!"

There were tears in Zuko's eyes, on his cheeks, in his mouth. The stars in his eye were getting brighter and more frequent as his father's grip tightened. Zuko felt a strong heat radiating on his face as well. At first he thought, with a surge of horror, that it was the lightning.

"Daddy, please," he gasped. "We'll both…die." For if Ozai electrocuted Zuko while he was touching him, he would hit himself as well.

Ozai only laughed and the heat on Zuko's face got more intense. "You really do think me an idiot, don't you boy?" he scoffed. "What good would come of killing you, my only son? No, Zuko, I could never." Ozai leaned down and kissed Zuko's trembling neck. Zuko tried vainly to push his father off, and when he couldn't, he pounded on Ozai's chest with his fist, trying to communicate to the man that he couldn't breathe.

"No, Zuko. You are my Crown Prince. You've always been smart and you can learn. You _will_ learn."

Then Zuko's cries became screams. There was fire. Everywhere he looked, he saw fire. He could no longer feel his father's hand, but it was likely still clutching his face because thrash as he might, Zuko still could not move. There was no escaping the heat; there was no escaping the smell. He could feel strips of skin from his face shrivel up, sear off and fall to the floor. His left eyelid was melting. He couldn't see out of either eye now, but he could hear his father laughing.

" _You're hurting me!"_ Earned Zuko no respite.

" _I'm sorry, Daddy!_ " Did not stay Ozai's hand.

" _I can't SEE!"_ Was what finally did the trick. As though snapped from a reverie, Ozai rescinded his fire. Whether Ozai thought his punishment had reached its natural conclusion or if he honestly feared for his heir's eyesight was unclear to Zuko, who could still feel only the intense burning.

Ozai leaned back, relieving Zuko of some of the weight that had kept him still. Zuko used his newfound freedom to writhe in agony, an action that had been denied him under the Fire Lord's firm grip.

Zuko rolled to his side and clawed at his face with both hands, trying desperately to rip out his own eye. He couldn't take the feeling anymore. The skin around his eye was still burning, and it felt gooey to the touch. If only he could scrape it off…scrape and tear until he got down to the normal skin again…

Ozai pinned Zuko's hands to the floor. "Enough," he ordered. Zuko was screaming too loudly to hear him.

"Enough, Prince Zuko, quiet," Ozai said calmly. He pulled Zuko back to his chest and rested a large hand on Zuko's face. Slowly, the burning slowed to a dull ache and Zuko's voice broke. Unable to scream any longer, he only panted and gasped. He breathed at a frantic pace, trying desperately to distract his brain and body from the intense pain which might otherwise have knocked him unconscious. Though his father had muted the burning, the mutilated side of Zuko's face still twitched uncontrollably.

He had no vision in his left eye. The smell of burned flesh was so strong that Zuko gagged. He felt a clump of singed hair slide from his scalp.

"Oh what a sight you are, little one," Ozai commented. He ran his fingers through Zuko's hair again and even more of it sloughed off. "It'll be awhile before you'll be going out in public, won't it?"

Ozai lifted Zuko into his arms and stood up. "Let's get you to a healer and see if we can't save that eye. Oh, Zuko, have you learned your lesson?"

"Yes," Zuko whispered because the muscles in his neck had seized up and he could no longer nod.

"Good. You'd do well to remember your place from now on my Prince—"

Zuko's father got him redressed before taking him to the medics. But he took his time doing it. Zuko didn't like the way his father's hands lingered on his bare skin, didn't like the lilt in his voice as he told Zuko exactly where he belonged.

"—Right below me."

* * *

Fire Lord Ozai did not lie about how Zuko came to be disfigured. Zuko's uncle Iroh had been the first to broach the subject. On his way to bed his first night out of the medical rooms, Zuko had frozen in the hallway, able to hear his father and uncle speaking in the former's bedroom.

Uncle Iroh was talking calmly about Zuko's injury, saying it was a miracle the sight in his nephew's left eye, though diminished, had not been permanently lost.

"You speak about this with great levelness, Iroh," Ozai commented. By the rustling sounds that undercut his words, Zuko assumed he was changing into his bed clothes. "As though you, like everyone else in the palace, believe Zuko's injuries to be the result of a negligent moment in a training spar."

"Aye," Iroh admitted. "The boy does not have Azula's quickness; it was only a matter of time before he slipped up and got hurt."

Ozai laughed. "Zuko has more fighting prowess than you give him credit for, brother. I scarred him on purpose."

Zuko felt his breath hitch. His father's words weren't news to him, obviously, but they still distressed him.

The two men were silent for a long time before Iroh spoke again.

"It is a weak leader who treats his allies as poorly as his enemies," he said quietly. Zuko half expected his father to lash out, but heard nothing. A minute later, Iroh's footsteps spurred Zuko to dash down the hall before he was seen eavesdropping. He slipped into his bedroom and flung himself under the covers, forgetting to close his door completely.

His uncle paused at his bedroom door. He opened it slowly and let the light from the hall spill onto Zuko, who tried valiantly to feign sleep. Iroh stood silently for a long time and seemed to debate stepping into the room. In the end, he only sighed and left Zuko alone.

"Azula!" Zuko cried one morning. It was minutes after breakfast and his sister hadn't shown up to eat. He found her in the courtyard. His first thought was that she'd been practicing her firebending, but when he approached her, he saw she was holding a struggling animal in her left hand.

"What are you doing?" Zuko cried, touching Azula on the shoulder. He could now see that the creature she held was a field mouse. Its tail and several legs dangled loose from between Azula's fingers, thrashing about now and then. From the confines of Azula's palm, Zuko could hear the mouse's frantic squeaking. "Let it go, Azula," Zuko insisted.

But Azula only shrugged his grip. She closed her hands tighter, like a hawk crushing its dinner, and the mouse's legs practically spun.

Zuko, who could hardly bear the pain of any living thing, was mortified. He could feel tears running down his face. Part of Zuko was scared that Azula would kill the mouse if he did nothing, but part of him was also scared that she would kill it even faster if he did _anything._

"Please let it go, Azula," Zuko begged. His chest felt like it was compressing as he empathized with the mouse. Each squeal sounded more frightened. "What has it ever done to you?"

What a stupid question that had been. Of course the creature had done nothing—since when did Azula need anything resembling an excuse for her violence? But to Zuko's surprise, Azula turned to face him, and she gave him his answer.

"I hate its sound," she muttered. "How it _squeaks…_ " she tightened her hand and the mouse's cries wavered, creaking. "How it _squeals._ "

Zuko felt frozen. Azula's eyes were not focused and her voice was hollow and dead. She wasn't truly talking to him. Zuko shrank slowly away from her, afraid of how she might react if he drew attention to himself.

Azula clutched her fist even tighter still, and Zuko heard an unmistakable crack. Something dark ran down her wrist. He gasped and her eyes zeroed in on him. She was shaking. Then she said quietly, "Sounds just like my door, opening _ever so slowly._ "

Zuko ran from her. He wanted to leave Azula far behind him, wanted to grab Azula by her bloodred robes and take her with him, wanted to help her, wanted to hurt her, wanted to curl up and _die._ He wanted to take her running away with him to find their mother. But he was a coward, and could not remember his mother very well.

He could remember the bell, though. Mother had hung up his grandfather's bell and when it rang, it used to mean Ursa was there and Ursa was safety. Now instead when the bell chimed, it meant Ozai had arrived.

Zuko ran to the safety of his father's room.

* * *

Zuko was fast on his way to becoming an unstable wreck by the time he turned seventeen. Azula had all but taken over most of his duties. Azula was stronger than he was; Azula could function. Zuko could not. It was no secret that Ozai favored Azula, and Zuko didn't blame him, as much as the knowledge hurt. He was an all-out disgrace to his father by that point in his life. A Fire Prince who could barely go out in public without making a scene!

At the last formal dinner Zuko had ever been allowed to attend, one of Ozai's generals had stood up and announced a toast. In doing so, he had tapped his spoon against his wineglass. The high, ringing pitch had sounded just like a bell, _exactly_ like Zuko's bell, and he'd cowered. He'd slid from his chair to crouch on the ground, hands covering his head against the cutlery and plates he'd knocked from the table.

"Prince Zuko!"

The two generals nearest to him rushed to crouch by his side. They meant to help him, but their proximity only sent Zuko into higher hysterics. Ironically, it was his father who managed to calm him. When his booming voice reached Zuko's ears, Zuko immediately stilled. He let his hands fall from his face and looked timidly around him. Everyone was staring. Several men were kneeling next to him, their hands outstretched as if they wanted to touch him, but didn't dare.

Shame crept up Zuko's neck and covered his face a dark red. Soon even his healthy skin looked as burned as his left eye. Without much preamble, his father ordered him escorted to his bedroom. There was an earnest concern interspersed within his harsh, commanding voice that Zuko wasn't naïve enough to trust. He would be punished later and he knew it.

There were nights when the Fire Lord was gentle with him, and these were the times that Zuko hated most of all. Sometimes, when Ozai stepped into Zuko's room with a sharp _ding ding_ of his bell, Zuko's fearful reactions would be met with soft, hurt words.

"Come here, my son, just for a moment. I only wish to speak with you."

And that never failed to make Zuko feel ashamed of himself. What kind of a firebender cowers before they even know if what they face is a threat? Immediately he would scramble up and run to his father, eager to please him and desperate for attention.

Of course a soft tone of voice did not guarantee Zuko safety. Ozai was frequently soft-spoken and deceptively gentle during even the most horrendous bouts of abuse: no, it was his _words_ that gave the Fire Lord away. Zuko was never Ozai's _son_ if the man intended him harm; those nights he was Ozai's _prince._

And so the endearment "my son" became the magic word to Zuko. Uttering it would summon him instantly and fearlessly to the Fire Lord's side. And while Zuko loved those rare instances of affection from his father, he hated them even more…for getting his hopes up…for showing his weakness…

…and for making it impossible for him to hate Ozai. Because now there was always that doubt, that tiny, petulant, _wriggling_ doubt that he, Zuko, was not blameless. If he could just figure out what it was that he sometimes did to stimulate that softer side of his father. Had he said the right thing? Performed especially well during training? Worn the right robes? Or perhaps it was what he hadn't done. Maybe he had avoided saying the _wrong_ thing or kept himself out from underfoot the generals?

"My Prince, you should have been in bed long ago." Lord Ozai's voice startled Zuko from his reverie late one summer evening. Zuko started in his desk chair and knocked a large book to the floor. He was in the library and had fallen deep into thought. He must have lost track of what time it was. With a slight panic sketched into his gut by his father's choice of words, Zuko looked to his reading candles: they were nearly burned out. Nervous, he looked up at the Fire Lord.

"I have to beg your forgiveness, sir, I was studying for tomorrow's firebending skirmishes and I must have gone off in a daze."

"Most unbecoming behavior for a future Fire Lord." Ozai's voice was deadly soft.

Zuko did not appreciate being taunted with the position of Fire Lord. He knew damn well that his father planned to give the position to Azula. He was merely getting Zuko's hopes up… planning to dash them at the last minute...

But Zuko swallowed that bitterness away.

"Have you no honor, Zuko?"

That hurt Zuko deeply. He had always thought himself nothing if not honorable. Was it not for the sake of his honor—and that of his family—that he allowed his father's abuse? Because for all of Ozai's wrongdoings, it would be far less _dishonorable_ for Zuko to put up with his father than to be seen running away.

Zuko steeled himself and tried to explain this to his father.

"It is for my honor that I remain here."

"Is that so?" Ozai asked, a peculiar edge to his voice. "You find honor is surviving? In silent suffering?"

Zuko nodded and Ozai smiled cruelly.

"Then I have truly won," he said.

Zuko had never been unaware that his father's behaviors were wrong. He had known since the first night that he was the victim of a horrific, recurring crime. He had never needed to ask _what_ his father did to him—and to Azula.

But he had always wondered _why._

Why did the Fire Lord feel compelled to do this to his son? Zuko had run through many theories over the years, ranging from a pathological need for control and dominance, to a simple desire to be intimate with someone since Ursa had left. He'd dismissed all these ideas as being Ozai's main motivation for one simple reason: they'd been too logical. Over time, Zuko had come to realize that he simply could not put rational explanations onto his father's irrational behavior. He couldn't explain Ozai if he, Zuko, was thinking logically.

There was a positive side, though, which Zuko was inclined to see. It had long since become obvious to him that his father preferred him to Azula…at least during the night. Zuko rarely spoke with his sister, but there was a jealousness to her behavior, a jealousness mixed with relief, which told him that while Ozai might favor Azula and her firebending prowess by sunlight, he shifted his attentions disproportionately to Zuko whenever the moon rose.

It was a hollow victory for Zuko, but it was his only one.

* * *

When questioned, Iroh had his own theories for his brother's behavior. He blamed Ozai's demeanor on Ursa.

"I can never know my brother's mind for certain," Iroh told Zuko one day after the boy had cornered him in the courtyard. "He is a complicated man."

Zuko pressed his uncle further. He was confident Iroh did not know the extent of Ozai's behavior and he wasn't keen to admit all the horrific details, but Iroh had known Ozai the longest and if anyone could shed some light on Zuko's predicament, it was him.

Yet Iroh seemed unwilling to speak freely about the Fire Lord. He avoided Zuko's eyes and adopted the posture of a man about to run away.

"Please, Uncle," Zuko entreated. "I mean no ill will nor disrespect to my father. I was only curious. I thought perhaps there might be something I could do to appease him."

But Iroh shook his head gravely.

"Your mother was no bender, Zuko. But I have borne witness to many an occasion where her cunning and combat training let her overtake Ozai despite his fire and even his lightening. They were both such violent people."

Iroh would say no more; he left Zuko to his thoughts.

* * *

"My agents tell me the Avatar has reawakened…likely somewhere in the far south."

Zuko's eyes brightened and he gripped his father's hips more tightly. He did not immediately understand why this news should make him so immensely happy, but as he pulled himself forward and took the Fire Lord so far down his throat that his nose bumped against the man's belly, it dawned on him.

The Avatar. She or he would be one of the few people capable of defeating Fire Lord Ozai, and the only person who would be both brave enough and reckless enough to try and topple the Fire Nation's war operations. If the Avatar had truly come back then…they would come for Ozai.

Zuko slid back from his father and collapsed back on his haunches. He looked up at Ozai, who was sat on his throne with an almost bored expression on his face.

"How can they be certain of this, Father? I thought the Avatar was long dead."

Ozai raised an eyebrow. "Oh, Zuko, don't act like this news doesn't fill your heart with hope that I'll be killed and you'll be free to make your escape."

Zuko toyed with Ozai's blood red robes, which were trailing over the sides of his throne as they had been splayed open to accomodate the two firebenders' activities.

"I'm hardly under lock and key here," Zuko admitted in a quiet voice. "And I've not yet run. I would die before I dishonored our nation like that."

Ozai smirked. He threaded one large hand through Zuko's dark hair. "Again you talk of honor as though you have a shred of it. You…who are nothing more than weak. A coward who can't function without his mother's kisses!"

Zuko ignored the bait. His father was trying to provoke him and the instant he responded, he would be violently reprimanded. He'd long since learned to recognize when Ozai was searching for an excuse to punish him; he was no longer easily fooled.

"Speak when I address you, Prince Zuko!" Ozai hissed, yanking Zuko forward by his hair. The abrupt pain made Zuko's eyes water and he panicked to find something neutral to say.

He wasn't fast enough.

"Perhaps," said Ozai, pulling Zuko prostrate against him. "Your throat is too worn out even to speak anymore. I suppose that's okay; I had other plans anyway."

A whimper escaped Zuko's lips before he could think to keep himself silent, and he trembled a little.

"Is that is?" Ozai asked with a smirk. He deftly plucked open the casings on Zuko's robes, but did not fully remove the garment—presumably to make redressing easier should someone ever walk in on them. "No crying? No begging? None of your pathetically crafted lies to try and dissuade me?"

Zuko shook his head so hard he felt a stinging sensation in the roots of his teeth.

Ozai rammed two fingers, completely dry, into Zuko and the boy keened, panting. There was a vial of lubricant in the Fire Lord's front pocket, Zuko knew there was, and he felt his eyes drift there unconsciously.

Ozai stretched Zuko ruthlessly and smiled. There had been no correct response to the verbal labyrinth Ozai had thrown at Zuko, and now Zuko was getting his comeuppance. He squirmed in his father's grasp and a few tears fell from the far corner of one eye.

Ozai pulled Zuko's head down with his free hand and licked his son's cheek. "There now, that's the Zuko I'm familiar with. Crying like an infant…unable to handle even the slightest amount of pain. If you beg me prettily enough, Zuko, I might coat myself up—"

And just as he usually did, Zuko lost the last of his pride and interrupted his father's goading comment. "Yes, Father _please,_ " he gasped. He reached one hand down to grip tightly to his father's wrist, but it did nothing to slow the man's painful ministrations. "Don't hurt me, I'll do anything!"

Ozai's booming laugh was so loud it nearly burst Zuko's eardrums. "You'll do what I tell you to do whether I take you dry or not," Ozai insisted.

Zuko threw his face into Ozai's shoulder, heaving dry sobs. He begged and bargained and pleaded. He could feel his father's erection, which had been hot and heavy from Zuko's previous activities, become somehow even harder.

"What a miserable creature you are," Ozai snapped as Zuko made a few weak, instinctual attempts to get off the man's lap, none of which was even close to successful. "Begging me to spare you…trying to _run_ from me…you're just like your mother."

Zuko was seeing sparks. He was in a blind panic. Usually he was so much more composed than this but tonight Ozai seemed more unstable than usual. His hostility towards Zuko had been increasing lately—perhaps it was the discovery of the Avatar, or perhaps it was the fact that Zuko had turned eighteen the month prior.

Zuko was supposedly a man now, but he didn't feel like one, not with Ozai beating him down harder and harder each time they were together. For all intents and purposes, Zuko was still that scared fifteen-year-old kid who'd not understood a single thing his father had done to him.

Ozai's mention of Zuko's mother had caused an eruption of sadness in Zuko's brain. He missed her terribly. And he hated her. If she hadn't gone, then none of this would be happening. They would all still be happy, like they had been that night Ozai had slept with his sick wife and child. They could have been a real family. They could have all played Zuko's little store game—

 _(Ding ding,_

" _Hi Daddy!")_

Zuko felt a fierce pain inside himself and a terrible tightness in his lower back and knew his father had entered him. The sensation pulled him back down from his white hot panic and back into reality. An overwhelming, wet coldness told him that Ozai had spared him the threatened raw sex after all.

Zuko clawed madly at the Fire Lord's shoulders and tried to push himself up in time with Ozai's thrusts to keep them shallow. Gravity was not on his side however, and he was soon too tired to do more than go slack, held upright only by Ozai's iron grip on his collar.

Zuko cringed at the filthy things his father said to him. The words sounded so odd coming from such a regal, proper man. Zuko wondered briefly what any of his father's soldiers would think if they could see their king—could see him close his eyes and moan obscenely, cock buried to the hilt inside his son.

There were still tears falling from Zuko's eyes but he had long since lost his breath and so was mostly silent save for the occasional ragged sob.

Ozai slowed for a second to taunt his son. "So quiet, Prince Zuko…what's the matter?"

It was all Zuko could do to keep pumping air in and out of his lungs.

"I told you to answer me when I address you!" Ozai yelled. He pushed Zuko off him. Zuko was pulled violently free of his father and clattered to the floor, landing hard on his back. Ozai was on top of him a moment later.

"Daddy," Zuko gasped, finding a shred of his voice back. He repeated the title over and over again. Sometimes the reminder that Zuko was his son would snap Ozai back into a more rational state of mind.

It was fruitless tonight, though. Ozai was too far gone and it was all Zuko could do to not throw up. Ozai had him pinned by his shoulders and head. Zuko could feel the marble floor grinding against his scalp. The scar over his eye was twitching and Zuko screamed as his father's thrusts became erratic, striking him at new angles.

"Slow down…" he begged, but it was as though Ozai were deaf. The man slammed in and out of Zuko for a few more agonizing moments before climaxing. He twitched and jerked, holding Zuko unbearably tight to him, and emptied himself. As usual, he came almost silently, his ragged panting and a brief, low groan the only audible signal that he'd enjoyed himself.

Then came the part that Zuko dreaded most. For a few moments, as his father lay absolutely still on top of him, all was calm. Zuko knew he would feel better with Ozai off of him, but the pulling out hurt. When his father started to shift, Zuko let out a shriek and held on to him.

"One moment," he begged. "Please."

But Ozai was in no mood to accommodate Zuko's request. He slid out of his son and stood himself up, righting his clothing and smoothing his hair. When he was composed, he gave Zuko one last spiteful glare before leaving the throne room. It was very late at night by that time. Zuko assumed he was going to bed.

"I love you," Zuko whimpered like he always did, but Ozai ignored him. Ursa had been the only person to ever say those three words to Zuko.

Ursa…

Alone in his father's throne room, Zuko sat up and with shaking fingers, tried to fasten his robes. The heat from the walls of fire around him were starting to make him lightheaded.

Ursa had run…

She'd abandoned Zuko…

Zuko had no idea why his mother had left him, but he knew that it filled him with an indeterminate rage. She had no honor. She'd slunk away in the night when she couldn't handle Zuko's father. She'd been weak, she'd given up!

(How easy would it be for Zuko to run now. It was dark. He knew where the guards were stationed. He could grab a few things and be miles away by sunrise. No one would find him).

Zuko wasn't weak, though. He was strong and honorable and he could prove that to his father!

Zuko staggered to his feet and felt the blood rush to his head. Once steady, he limped from the throne room and down several long palace hallways. Soon after he found himself outside his father's bedroom.

With a steadying breath, he pushed open the door—

 _(Ding ding!)_

—and strode confidently inside. His father was already lying in bed, but sat bolt upright at his son's intrusion.

"Zuko?" he asked curiously. There was sleep clinging to his voice and Zuko almost laughed out loud. Had his father fallen asleep already?

Zuko crawled into bed with his father.

"Are you rested enough for me to finish what I started, my lord?" Zuko asked, slowly licking his lips. Ozai smirked. He carded his hand through Zuko's hair again but this time he was gentle.

Zuko took a deep breath and kissed a hot trail down Ozai's chest and abdomen.

Zuko knew that active participation on his part would not spare him all of Ozai's violence, but it was the best he could do to dissuade it. He would convince his father that he deserved his place as the crown prince, that he would never _ever_ run from his nation.

"Father," Zuko whispered against Ozai's hot flesh. "You have well and truly won."

* * *

 **Signed/Tenrousei-Kuroi**

 **Further Notes:** It's been a lot of years since I've seen anything Avatar-related so please forgive the inevitable discrepancies. Also, I seem to recall Zuko being 13 or 14 when his father scarred him, but I upped his age a bit because even I was feeling uncomfortable with what I wrote.

This is my first Last Airbender fic. I was never very active in the AtLA community when the show was running (I was a little young for fanfiction then), but I've always had a soft spot for Zuko. From the first episode, there was a part of me that was always hoping he'd catch Aang and get to return triumphantly to his home and reconcile with his father. Now that I've finally had the chance to try my hand at writing Zuko, I go and do all this to the poor lad.

I think I'll go slinking back to my Regulus Black now, he's feeling jealous.


End file.
